When grief comes, we are given a way through our pain and suffering to a new way of being… to becoming more real and more open to love than ever before. I say this as a way to encourage each of us, me included, to feel fully the pain we are experiencing, especially as we enter the Holiday Season. The memories of “how it used to be” and all the seasonal traditions, now celebrated without our loved one(s), weigh heavily upon us and invite us to grieve once again.

With heartfelt love and appreciation for the pain of loss, I invite you to hold your pain, whether it is anger or sadness, guilt or fear, with love. Imagine that what you hold is like a child who needs a few moments of your time to listen as the child (your pain) tells you what it is feeling. Once you feel the pain and listen to what it may have to tell you, it will dissipate. Thank it for coming and go about your day. When another feeling arises, do the same. It takes just a few moments to be with yourself in this loving and compassionate way.

A couple of days after my son died, a woman came to visit me. She was with Compassionate Friends and wanted to talk to me about coming to the local chapter. Standing at my front door, she began to tell me the long and very sad story of her son’s death and did so with almost uncontrollable emotion. Still overwhelmed with the pain of my loss, I had no room in my heart to really hear her pain or to adequately care for her. I ended her monologue as politely as I was able and went inside feeling even more sad and somewhat confused.

I saw her off and on through the next months in town, and each time I saw her she went into her monologue of pain. I felt compassion for her, but, in retrospect, I believe that she never really grieved. She never sat in the silence of love. She never held herself with compassion, allowing herself to feel her own pain. There was a wall between her heart and her pain. She became the pain and left herself behind.

As we feel our pain, we must remember that we are more than the pain so that we can hold ourselves with love and feel whatever the pain is bringing to our attention. When we do this, our pain, having been embraced with love, dissipates and we receive the gift that grief can bring to us… more love.

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Those first months were a nightmare. Hell could not be worse!  I do not recall our first Thanksgiving. As many memories as there are in my heart and mind, that first Thanksgiving is not one of them. How could it have been? How could I find my way to gratitude in such a short time? Even if I ate turkey and pumpkin pie, I am sure I was not really there…just barely in my body and smiling only because it served the others at the table, if I smiled at all.

But I do remember the first Christmas. I remember trying to decorate the Christmas tree. I think I cried tears on every ornament as I painstakingly hung then, not caring where they fell or how the tree looked! I remember wandering through the stores in a daze trying to buy presents for my other children.

But I did decorate the tree, and I did buy presents because I willed myself to do so.

That first year, I willed myself to get out of bed in the morning and to smile even if I did not feel like smiling, which was most often the case.  Every day I made a choice to live, and by live, I mean enter into life as best I could without judging  myself, without thinking I “should” do better. I just did my best. Each night, just before going to bed, I reflected on the day and gave thanks to God for whatever I could accomplish, however little. I also gave thanks for whatever help I received that day…however little!

There were many things that helped me to heal, to smile, to will myself to live. My family and friends were a great blessing. I learned quickly who to be with and when to leave. Some folks just can not bear another’s pain mostly because they refuse to bear their own. Bury your pain, and you will do your best to help another to do the same.

I believe that the best thing I did, the thing that helped the most, was to pray. It is what helped me everyday to choose to live. I would take time as often as I could to sit in the quiet of my room and  pray. Sometimes it would only be for a few minutes, but it was always healing. It was not what we often call prayer, not formal prayer. I was not capable of that. I would just be with what I call God… with what you might call Divine Mystery or Universal consciousness or Love, and I would allow myself to be and to feel, to feel my anger or my fear, to feel guilty or desparing, or simply to cry my heart out.

I did this in the presence of God’s love. Most often, I could not feel that love but my faith is deep, and, even in the midst of grieving my son’s suicide, I believed it was there.

Today, 28 years later, I live with a smile on my face that comes naturally and often. I am more free than I have ever been, more at peace, more in love and more joyful.

I believe this is so because I have been willing to feel the depths of my suffering…the pain, the anger, the fear, the guilt, and whatever else arose. I have been faithful to myself as I refused to bury that which I am. The love of God has given me that gift…the safety to feel as deeply as possible into the hell that lies within.  As I was faithful to my feelings, I healed, and each Holiday became easier to enjoy. It isn’t that time heals all wounds but rather that fully feeling the pain heals all wounds. There is hope, and those of us who have walked the walk are living proof!

That said, I must add…there is not a holiday or birthday or death day that goes by that I don’t feel a need to sit quietly with God and feel the loss.  I never know when something will invite tears, but now I welcome those tears. They are my connection to a child who I dearly love. When it is my time, I will die knowing that I will see my son, and I will find great joy in that moment.

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I remember well the first time I could look at my son’s picture without breaking down in sobs.  His suicide was shocking, terrifying and beyond heart-breaking.

That memorable day, I sat on our sofa and looked at a photograph of his face. Sweet, gentle tears rolled down my face as I felt unbounded love flood my heart.  I wrote in my journal, but it took a few days for me to name that extraordinary moment of grace and give thanks to God. The love I felt then still remains in my heart.  It is what I have of Sean, and nothing or no one can take that from me!

I recall sitting on my closet floor one day, months after Sean’s death and slowly opening the suitcase in which I had saved some of his belongings.  At that time, I did not recall what I had saved.  I was in too much pain and confusion when I first placed them in the suitcase.

I held his clothes to my face and smelled them hoping to remember how Sean smelled.  I touched his poetry books, his baseball mitt, his sunglasses with gentle caresses hoping to recall how Sean felt.  I folded up in tears on the closet floor with his things all around me, and I fell asleep.

I awakened, surprised by a sense of Sean’s presence embracing me.  I sat stunned by what had happened and felt so close to my son that I wondered if the veil had completely disappeared for a moment.  Again, I wrote in my journal, but it was not until I shared this with my Spiritual Director that I wept in gratitude for that moment of pure grace.

There are many turning points on the journey of grieving the death of a loved one.  Each is a reminder that we are not alone in our grief and that our loved ones are with us in Spirit as is our God.  Our journeys are much greater than the healing of grief.  They are awakening us to the presence of love in our midst and inviting us to participate in love, to become love itself, and to walk side by side with others who suffer, with love in our hearts.

Pamela Prime is a mother and a grandmother and lives in Twain Harte and San Francisco. She and her husband have a small retreat with three guest houses in Twain Harte, called Two Bears Dancing!

Pamela is a Spiritual Director, an educator and a writer. She has a master’s degree in Systematic Theology from The Graduate School of Theology in Berkeley. Her first book “When the Moon is Dark We can See the Stars” was  published in 2008. It is the story of how faith can hold us in our suffering, awaken us, and bring us into deeper awarenesses of God’s love and guidance. Pamela has a 4-month-old daughter who died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. She also has a son who at the age of 16, committed suicide. To reach Pamela or learn more about her book, visit www.whenthemoonisdark.com.

Pamela was a guest on the radio show Healing the Grieving Heart and discussed Finding Peace and Light After Loss with hosts, Dr. Gloria and Dr. Heidi Horsley.  To listen to this show, click on the following link: www.voiceamericapd.com/health/010157/horsley051409.mp3

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This Memorial Day is once again a significant and special day to remember our soldiers who have offered their lives for our well-being and the well-being of the world. As our soldiers continue to be sent to the Middle East and elsewhere, we must continue to support them with our love and our prayers regardless of how we feel about war.

I have a friend, Dr. John, who is now in Afghanistan. He is an orthopedic surgeon who has given seven months of his life to support the healing of our soldiers through surgery but also through his love. I pray for his safe return and in gratitude for his gracious gift.

There is an enormous grass covered hill in the town of Lafayette, California, which is covered with hundreds and hundreds of white crosses, one for each soldier who has given his or her life for us. I weep when I see this hill and all of the crosses knowing that more soldiers are dying every day.

For me, the crosses represent not only our soldiers but soldiers all over the world who are fighting and dying for peace. They represent the thousands of mothers and fathers, wives, husbands and children who mourn the loss of their loved ones.  They represent the soldiers who are wounded, and the soldiers who, in the name of freedom, must wound and kill others. They represent enormous pain and suffering.

Amidst my tears, I begin to pray and I pray first of all for the soldiers who have died and their families and then I pray for the soldiers who are still at war. I pray for their safe return home.

But the greatest part of my prayer is always that we find a place in our hearts to love and care for one another so there would be no more war…….no more war in our hearts, our homes, our places of worship, and our? governments . It seems like a fairy tale to imagine a world at peace, but if we can not imagine a world at peace, it will never happen.

Let’s together work for peace in whatever way we are naturally drawn and let us trust the presence of a great universal love that weaves us together as one, who some call God. Let us seek peace, first of all, in our hearts.

Reach Pamela Prime through her websites, www.twobearsdancing.org and www.whenthemoonisdark.com.

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I awakened on Mother’s Day a few years ago with the awareness that I would be alone that day for the first time in thirty years.  I recall lying in bed and feeling the loneliness that only my children could fill on that day, or so I thought.  Although the sun was already shining and the birds chirping, I was reluctant to rise…what would I do to celebrate when none of my children were with me?

My daughter Katie was a mother now and her excitement was naturally with her own children.  My son, Mark was busy at his restaurant, three hours away, preparing wonderful brunches and dinners for the moms who came to the Village Pub that Sunday, and my youngest daughter Annie, was living far away in New York City.

Mother’s Day had often been a very sad day since it brought memories of my time with two of my children, Sean and Maggie, who had died, but that sadness was now somehow bitter-sweet.  It was bitter because they were no longer with me, and sweet because I was remembering them, remembering their smiles and their warmth. I will always miss them.

As I lay in bed, I prayed to God for solace.  I remembered that although my children would not be with me that Sunday, we would be together soon and we would celebrate.  I also knew that the two who had passed on to a new life were with me in Spirit. By God’s grace, I suddenly felt a new freedom and a wave of peace came over me. I sat up on the edge of my bed and, with some excitement, wondered aloud, “What shall I do today to celebrate Motherhood?”

It was that word…Motherhood, that awakened in me the awareness that I had never celebrated Mary on Mother’s Day!  Mary, the Mother of God was my Spiritual mother.  I felt a moment of sadness arise within me as I recognized my thoughtlessness, and then, I decided to do something for her!

I got a candle and some flowers and placed them in front of a beautiful statue I have of Mary.  I thanked her for all of the ways she cares for me and apologized for never having remembered to celebrate her love on this day.  If statues could smile, Mary smiled that Sunday!

Then, I thought, “and I have never even celebrated Mother Earth!  Mother Earth, the one who blesses us with such beauty and who reminds me always of Mother God, the feminine aspect of God who brings forth all life, who embraces us and, nurtures us.  In this magnificent month of May, with all the spring flowers blooming and all the trees budding, I must give thanks to my Mother God and to Mother Earth.”

So, I called Linda, a neighbor, whose children were also elsewhere, a daughter in the Spirit world who Linda was grieving on this Mother’s Day and two others, who lived at a distance and who were happily busy with their lives.  We went for a hike in the forest along the river.

It was a glorious spring day.  I can’t describe for you in words that would even come close to expressing the beauty we witnessed or the joy we experienced as we wandered about in the beauty of our Mother’s garden.  Honestly, it was one of the best Mother’s Days I have ever known.  Suddenly, I realized the grace of moving outside of myself…of what I need or what I am missing, to seeing what I am being called to give to another…in this case, to give thanks and to celebrate Mary, my spiritual mother, mother earth, my earthly mother and most of all Mother God.

When I returned home, it was still warm and sunny.  I lay down on the earth and looked up to the heavens.  I was smiling, and I began to sing aloud…a litany of thanksgiving to mother’s everywhere.

Reach Pamela Prime through her websites, www.twobearsdancing.org and www.whenthemoonisdark.com.

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Easter and the days leading up to it are a sacred time for many. In some ways, this is an extraordinary time, a time filled with mystery. It was a time I could not fully relate to because it was about the mysteries of Jesus and didn’t have much to do with me or my life. It really was not until my daughter died of Sudden Infant Syndrome that I really appreciated this as sacred time, a time to identify with the God who suffers and the God who rises.

I began to see it as an ordinary time, a time that was about me and God. I could sit with God now in God’s suffering, and I could tell God about my suffering. It became safe to explore my feelings in the midst of God’s love and compassion, and, as I did, those feelings slowly dissipated.

There was a time, after Maggie’s death, that I thought I would never wear colors again. I felt so depleted of life energy, so lost in the darkness. I remember wondering if I could ever smile and feel inside that the smile was authentic. Like Jesus, I felt alone, abandoned and even cried out to God, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” In that dark place, I shared with God my pain, my fears, my sense of emptiness, and I most often shared without words but with my tears.

Did I feel God holding me? I don’t think so. I probably couldn’t feel much but the pain. But I trusted that God was there, and slowly that dark place within me started to heal because God was there. Slowly, I felt the love begin to warm my heart again…the love that swells within us when we are free to feel.

So, I know something about suffering and death and rising. I know that if I want to rise from the darkness, I must do four things: 1) I must truly surrender to what I can not change (and I surely could not change the death of my child), 2) I must be willing to fully feel the feelings that my body is holding for me about the loss…the anger, fear, sadness, resentment etc., 3) I must hold myself with love and compassion as I feel whatever arises within me and patiently wait until I have felt all that I am holding within myself, and 4) I must give thanks for having been given the grace to honor my feelings in such a way.

I now know that if I do these things I will rise. Love, forgiveness, and gratitude flow naturally from a heart that has been heard.

I would never choose some of the events in my life nor would I ask for a different life, for God has used each moment of my life to bring me to love, to joy, to peace and, little by little, to God’s very self.

Today, I can happily say Happy Easter to my grandchildren as they scamper around the garden, looking for the colored eggs that the Easter Bunny carefully hid for them. I know my smile is authentic, and my spring colored dress is a symbol of the healing of my heart. I live in the awareness of the ordinary and extraordinary presence of the gentle and gracious love of God!

Pamela Prime is a mother and a grandmother and lives in Twain Harte and San Francisco. She and her husband have a small retreat with three guest houses in Twain Harte, called Two Bears Dancing!

Pamela is a Spiritual Director, an educator and a writer. She has a master’s degree in Systematic Theology from The Graduate School of Theology in Berkeley. Her first book When the Moon is Dark We can See the Stars was published in 2008. It is the story of how faith can hold us in our suffering, awaken us, and bring us into deeper awarenesses of God’s love and guidance. Pamela has a 4-month-old daughter who died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. She also has a son who at the age of 16, committed suicide. To reach Pamela or learn more about her book, visit www.whenthemoonisdark.com.

The post Easter Reminds Us That We Can Rise From Our Grief appeared first on Open to Hope.

Children are the most beautiful gifts and provide the most extraordinary challenges to us.  I often say to parents who are in pain that no one can hurt us as parents like our children can.  They can hurt us with words and actions, with their choices or lack of choices, and with their criticisms and impatience.  And no one can bring the kind of joy that comes from one’s children when they express their love and appreciation of us.

Children are amazing teachers for us.  I think this is because we love them so much that we will do almost anything to have loving relationships with them. The greatest thing they have to teach us is that they have their own lives, and we must learn to let go.  It takes a great deal of time and maturing to remain at peace and to love our children, regardless of how they are living their lives or responding to us as their parents.

If you have children, how have you felt hurt by their words, actions, or choices?  Have you been able to heal your pain and fully engage with your children again? If you do not have children, have you experienced hurt or pain with the children of your siblings or friends?  Have you been able to heal your pain and fully engage with the children again?

Some couples grieve the death of a child while others desperately want to conceive a child and, for whatever reason, they can’t. The pain for these couples can be excruciating and continues until they realize they must live without the child that they long for. There are others who have deeply held desires as well… desires for a loving spouse, a good job, or a healthy body, and find pain in their unmet desires.

If you want to conceive a child or if there is something important to you that you deeply desire, how do you cope with the feelings of disappointment of unmet longings?

Sometimes things happen in our lives that appear utterly incomprehensible and absolutely impossible to overcome. We cannot imagine being normal or happy ever again and yet as time passes, the pain eases and we begin to heal. We don’t ever forget the loss or the pain, but we learn to be happy again in spite of it.

What in your life has caused you to feel as though you could never be happy again? Have you overcome that feeling?

Pamela Prime is a Spiritual Director, an educator and a writer. She has a master’s degree in Systematic Theology from The Graduate School of Theology in Berkeley. Her first book When the Moon is Dark We can See the Stars, was published in 2008.  Pamela has a 4-month-old daughter who died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. She also has a son who at the age of 16, committed suicide. To reach Pamela or learn more about her book, visit www.whenthemoonisdark.com.

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